Twins
by Phoenixflames12
Summary: Will and Djaq AU set after Season 2 Episode 13. After the death of Marian and the return of the gang to Sherwood Forest; can the two lovebirds we left in the Holy Land start a family? My first fanfic in BBC Robin Hood so please feel free to read and review! Much love and enjoy x
1. Twins

_**A/N: My first Robin Hood story! This came about because I am undeniably in love with Harry Lloyd and Anjali Jay's beautiful portrayal of Will Scarlet and Djaq's relationship- especially in the barn scene in season 2, episode 12!**_

_**Disclaimer: As much as I'd love to, sadly I claim no rights to the ownership of BBC Robin Hood- all credits go to Tiger Aspect!**_

_**Much love and enjoy x**_

Twins

'أرغ!' The cry ripped through me as I gripped the sweat soaked hand in mine, gently massaging the clenching fingers as the woman beside me strained and wept in her own language, a language which I was only now beginning to understand.

'Ssh, it's alright, everything's going to be alright', the words fell unheeded as I tucked a lock of sweaty hair out of her eyes, remembering with a pang of guilt how many times she had done that very action for me. Her eyes were closed, the lips thin with pain as another contraction racked through her trembling body. How long had this been going on for? I didn't know, didn't want to know. Time had no meaning up here in this large room with glass in the windows and views over the whole of Acre. She clutched at my hand, crushing my fingers as she strained, forcing the headboard back as her body slumped against the mattress; exhausted. Hot tears of pain and frustration brimmed out of her half closed eyes as she tried again, her teeth clenched.

'Ssh, don't cry', still clutching her hand, I leant over and thumbed the tears away, blinking back my own. It wasn't supposed to be like this. The midwife had specifically told me and an anxious Bassam that the birth would be simple, over with an hour. She was certain she said, that it was going to be easy; nothing she hadn't handled before. I sighed and looked down at the sweat soaked, tear stained face of the woman I now called my wife. The woman whom I had recently given a wooden ring to, a ring that she wore on a thong around her neck beside her tag. I didn't want it to end this way. Not after we'd been through so much; saving the King, helping the poor, freeing Marian only to see her die by the hand of the man she so wanted to save from the Sheriff's vice like clutches.

'Will?' Djaq's voice was little more than a silver whisper as she opened her eyes. They were distant, each strand of honey coloured brilliance laced with pure white pain. I moved closer, reaching over to clasp her other hand, trying to squeeze some reassurance into the weakening grip.

'It's not long my love', I whispered back, glancing over at the silent midwife sitting in the shadows on a low stool, her eyes downcast, waiting. She hadn't said a word to me in the seamless day we had spent in this room together, simply gone about her business with such quiet efficiency that it made my blood boil. Why couldn't I be like that? What could I do for my wife, my beautiful, ferocious wife apart from sit murmuring useless words of comfort whilst holding her hand? The midwife glanced up at the noise, a quick, terrified glance in my direction. She, like so many of Djaq's people did not trust me on account of my pale skin which automatically classified me as a 'Crusader' and therefore a murderer of her people, the rightful people to live in this beautiful, desert wasteland. I nodded at her and turned back to Djaq, whose eyes were fully open now, wide and fearful.

'It hurts Will', she murmured as her body was seized by another violent contraction; as if some huge, invisible, unmerciful hand was shaking her. The scream that followed shook my eardrums as I clung onto her silently convulsing hand, desperately trying to keep hold of her as she was shaken like a ragdoll, her huge stomach pitching like a ship on storm tossed seas. Her eyes rolled as her mouth opened in another, desperate silent scream as the pain engulfed her. I could feel tears in my eyes, hot stabs of pain in the back of my eyelids as I watched my Djaq, my beautiful Djaq completely at the mercy of the pain that neither of us could stop.

I did not hear the midwife approaching and jumped slightly as I felt a cold hand on my shoulder. My head turned of its own accord; gazing into the black eyes set in a dark, heart shaped face. She didn't speak, simply nodded. I knew that she knew a few words of halting English; picked up by traders and passing soldiers, but now was not the time to ask for clearer instructions. Silently, I got up and left the room, my heart hammering. What if the midwife couldn't save her? What then? I shook my head furiously and tried to block the thoughts of a Holy Land without Djaq out of my brain. They came anyway, a great, black cloud of misery and pain enveloping any sense of rationality. Closing my stinging eyes, I choked back the sob catching in my throat and rubbed my eyes with the fraying corner of my sleeve. I needed to be strong for her. She needed me to be the man she thought I was, the man I knew I wasn't. I reached the hallway as if in a dream, walking straight past a white faced Bassam who looked like a child awaiting a beating. The glance we exchanged was enough, it hadn't happened. Whether it would ever happen, I couldn't tell. Above our heads, Djaq screamed out her pain and my heart flew out to her, yet there was nothing I could do. '_It hurts Will!' _

'_I know it does sweetheart, please, hold on! Please?'_

There was nothing any of us could do except watch and wait. 'إن شاء الله' Bassam muttered as he made his way towards the seclusion of his study. _God willing_.

The workshop was dark when I finally entered it. The single oil lamp that swung perilously above my head, casting weird shadows had not yet been lit and the room was coated in shadows. Like a blind man, I felt my way towards the worktop and the little flask of oil that I kept there at all times, my hands lightly brushing my wooden world of miniatures, figurines and toys for the children of the city. It had started out as a little joke between myself and Djaq after I explained the concept of Christmas to her and possibly in memory of Marian as the Night Watchman, we didn't know, but I would go round the houses and leave a couple of wooden toys or figurines or whatever I had been recently making as gifts for the people. Delighted by these strange, free gifts the children would soon be seen running up to the strange, pale skinned Englishman, begging for more; even making requests of what they wanted. I smiled despite myself as I mentally ticked off the most recent list of possible creations. A dragon was one of them, a galloping horse, a bear, a pretty lady with loose hair instead of the traditional scarf, a sword, a Saracen soldier…. Finally my hands brushed the flask of oil and the tiny box of matches, which I lit. Holding the flaring match above my head, I made my way slowly back to the lamp, swinging just out of reach on its' rusted hook. The wick flared, the flame leaping into life, casting its flickering glow over the contents of the cramped room. Wood shavings littered the worktop, spilling out over its edge and onto the stone floor below. Figurines in various stages of development lined the slightly squint set of shelves next to the door; a miniature army of toys. An unblemished block of yew wood, its' bright, red glow dancing off the shadowy ceiling lay on the top, next to my awl and a pile of recent shavings piled neatly in a stack. Without thinking, I picked up the wood, turning it over and over in my nerveless fingers, the possibilities of what it could become racing through my brain. Outside, the sun hung suspended in the clear, white blue sky. Children scampered barefoot in the street; stripped to the waist whilst smiling mothers flittered like butterflies through each other's houses, completely oblivious to the pain of the pale faced Englishman only a few houses away. Crusaders dressed in white with the blood red cross of St George moved slowly through the streets; their horses sweating in the heat of the afternoon sun under their cloths. Slowly, I picked up the awl, relishing in its' warm weight against my cold hand and began to carve, whittling my thoughts of Djaq and the crowd of what might be's away.

The wood was transforming. No longer a pure piece of yew, it was now in the final stages of a dragon; teeth flashing, tail whipping down onto the base below. The worktop was littered in shavings, the dark blood of the wood seeping through my fingers as I turned the half formed monster over again, sharpening its' needle point tail. It leapt and roared in my hand, snarling in my palm as I sanded off the claws with a scrap of paper; the dark eyes gleaming in the flickering light of the oil lamp that was guttering slightly; the flame flickering in the evening light. Outside, I could hear the calls of anxious mothers, herding in wayward children like cattle; tutting over their dusty faces or else forcing them to sit and eat like grownups.

There had been no news from Bassam. No news about Djaq. Laying the half carved dragon aside, I stood and stretched, watching the bobbing oil lamp in the porch, my heart pounding. Through the flickering light of the lamp, I could see the fluttering shadows of Bassam's harem making their way slowly about their business, not looking at anyone else as fear and anger lapped palpably at my throat. Surely something had happened by now? According to Djaq, births did not take that long if the woman was in the care of an experienced midwife and Bassam had assured me that Leliya was the best in the whole of Acre. So why had there been no news? The black cloud of guilt mixed with the blood red flecks of frustration crashed over me as I dropped back onto the low stool, thrusting my head in my hands; biting back the unwanted tears pricking at my exhausted eyelids. I should be there. I should be sitting up there with her, holding her, telling her things that would make her laugh and forget the pain.

And yet here I was. Hiding like a common coward, whilst the woman I loved was being subjected to such torture that I could barely think about it. It was too much. Robin had been there when Marian died, not afraid that Gisbourne or the Sheriff might kill him and yet here I was, hiding like a child. I hated myself. Picking up the half finished dragon and tucking it into my belt pouch, I doused the silently guttering lamp and made my way out of the workshop and towards the house.

The evening was cool, the air fresh and cold on my face as I made way back towards the house. Acre was quiet, the only signs of life coming from the yowling of the stray cats as they fought in the ruins and the cooing cries of the pigeons in Bassam's aviary. As I walked, I remembered the first few days that Djaq and I had spent in this strange land; the wounds of losing Marian and the gang still red raw and refusing to heal. We had clung together like frightened children, our grief for our friends and the forest mingled together. We had blatantly refused Bassam's wish for us to sleep separately before our marriage; mere weeks after the gang's departure and had slipped like spies into each others rooms; holding each other, desperate for the shattered circle to be complete once more. I remembered too, the strangeness of hearing the name 'Saffyrira' on the lips of the household; as if they were addressing a different woman than the one by my side who went to the Field Hospital to tend the sick and helped Bassam train his pigeons. '_The closest I'd ever get to flight' _Djaq had explained to me once when we sat in the cool, early morning light of the aviary; watching the birds wake up and coo sleepily to each other.

The hallway was dark and full of shadows when I entered, a crack of light streaming from Bassam's half open door into the study. I could just make out his shadowy profile as he stood, gazing out of the window at the sleeping city. Was he thinking what I was thinking? Or did he know something I didn't? 'Bassam', my voice was quiet in the gloom as I watched him turn to face me. His face was white and taught with worry as he moved slowly into the shadow of the door- frame, his movements slow and deliberate. I clutched the wooden dragon in the palm of my hand and waited. 'News?' He looked at me, a long, calculating look as if weighing up how much to reveal, how much to conceal.

'Nothing, as yet, she's been calling for you though', his speech was like his movements, slow and deliberate, full of measured calm. I nodded, my mouth suddenly feeling as if I had swallowed sandpaper. Why had no one told me? Come down to the workshop to find me? I closed my eyes and tried to calm myself, tried to pacify the icy torrent of rage coursing through my body. Why? Was I deemed so inferior to these people that they didn't even tell me when my wife, my beautiful wife wanted my love? Silently, I turned from Bassam who placed a hand on my shoulder, pulling me back. I turned again and gazed into the weathered face, a face that looked like the King Oak back in Sherwood, the face that had seen so much and yet seen nothing at all. 'William', his voice cracked slightly as he held my gaze, his black eyes laced with pain and fear. I nodded and turned to go, gently releasing his fingers from my jacket, the desperation to be with Djaq in her hour of need rising steadily. Above our heads I could hear the creak of the bed frame as she strained, fighting for all she was worth. He nodded again and watched mutely as I made my way towards the staircase. Towards Djaq.

The screams grew louder with every step I took; slowly ripping each strand of composure I had into tiny pieces and hurling them to the wind. Without realising it, I found myself running, her name blossoming on my lips as I raced down the passageway, startling eavesdropping servants in their pure white robes into their rooms. The door seemed to grow smaller as I raced towards it, my breath being ripped from my body as I strained to reach her before it was too late. As I drew closer I could hear the midwife whispering in Arabic to Djaq; the beautifully poetic words filtering through the half open door. 'هذا كل شيء، فتاة جيدة، من السهل الآن' _That's it, good girl, easy now….' _I paused and leant my throbbing head against the doorframe drinking up the beauty of the language as the midwife slowly worked her unknown magic. I just hoped it would be enough to save her.

'Will? Where's Will?' Djaq's voice cut through my reverie like a knife through cloth; each word clipped with panicked pain. 'Where…' Her voice rose like a cork and then fell, cut from her windpipe like a branch from a tree as another contraction shook her. Heart in my mouth, I moved swiftly out of the shadows and dropped to my shaking knees beside her.

'Ssh, I'm here now, it's alright, you're going to be fine my darling, hush', I whispered to her, choking back my tears as I watched her distant eyes search my face, the pupils dilated with the purity of the pain. I gripped her hands with mine and tried to smile as she strained and screamed, her fingers working furiously as I massaged them, watching her as she tried again, her face wet with tears as she half listened to the midwife who was whispering again in Arabic, her hands on either side of Djaq's spread thighs; waiting. Finally, as yet another contraction shook her patient, she spoke, her voice slow and unsure of itself as she stumbled over the unknown words.

'You…you push now', she said finally; the harsh, short English words strange and grating in a mouth so used to pure flowing lilt of Arabic. I gripped Djaq's hands tighter and in a moment of either madness or brilliance, slipped the red dragon into her sweat soaked palm. She didn't feel it, didn't look at it, but that didn't matter. Gripping her hand in mine, I glanced over at the midwife, who nodded. It was nearly time.

'Come on my love', I whispered as she reared, her arms shaking with the effort; a silent scream bursting from her parched lips. 'That's it', the words slipped from my mouth as she fought against me; sweat running like blood down her contorted face. A scream. A blood-chilling scream filled with the white- hot pain that had tormented her for so long. Desperately I glanced at the midwife, who nodded silent encouragement. Encouragement? Closing my eyes, I prayed silently for this to be over. For the screaming to stop, for the sweat soaked bed to be still, for my wife to be back with me and not lost in this dark world of pain and fear. Her eyes were closed, the frustrated tears leaking out on their own accord as I wiped them, thumbing away the salty sadness that was clawing at her. 'Ssh,' I whispered to her screaming sobs, but she didn't hear me. Nothing I said would make any difference now, I saw that. She had to be left to fight this last battle alone and I hated it.

Suddenly, without warning, it stopped and a new noise started. A sort of mewing cry, a pitiful plea for help. 'Djaq?' I looked up at the midwife who was beaming, holding something, no, two somethings in her arms. Raising myself slightly and ignoring the silent screams of my cramped muscles, I glanced over the bed at Leliya and right into two crumpled, red faces; both screwed up in the act of testing out their lung power.

'Are they…?' Djaq's voice was sluggish with sleep as she tried to sit. I nodded, hardly daring to believe it as I supported her back into a sitting position, kissing her wet cheeks. Leliya smiled at the sight and cut the cords, the scarlet blood staining the bed sheets in a streak of stinking crimson, which hardly mattered. Nothing mattered now apart from the four of us.

'You're a father Will', she murmured sleepily as her head nestled in the crook of my armpit and her hands reached for her sons. Our sons. I simply nodded, speechless as I handed her the darker of the two; his almond eyes wide and curious at the strange face projected above him. 'He's beautiful', Djaq whispered, accepting the bundle from me and grinning as Leliya passed me my other son.

'They're both beautiful', I corrected her as my baby sneezed and looked slightly put out when I laughed. Djaq nodded. Both. 'Alan', she all but whispered after a moments pause. 'Let's call this one Alan', she nodded slowly at her baby who was looking around at this strange, cold world with big, fearful eyes. I grinned.

'Alan will be pleased', I chuckled imagining the look of amused horror on Alan's face as he digested that bit of information.

'Your turn now, Will', her voice personified the exhaustion I felt as she placed Alan to her breast and sighed contently. I glanced down at the silently watchful bundle of life in my arms, hardly daring to believe it. Who did he look like? Luke? No. Robin? I grinned at the thought and silently shoved it out of my mind. Djaq was waiting, her eyes filled with amused tenderness as she watched me think; waiting for an answer to a question posed a million years ago. It hit me like a stone fired from a sling shot; the realisation crashing over my temporarily jammed brain. _Of course. _Silently, I reached down and picked up the half finished dragon from the blood soaked sheets, marvelling at how far I had travelled since the idea began.

'Dan', I said quietly, focussing all my attention on the half finished red dragon. 'Dan, after my father.' I couldn't see her face, but I hoped she was smiling. Alan and Dan Scarlett. Sons of Will and Djaq, champions of the poor and absolutely perfect. Djaq laughed suddenly as I turned just in time to see Alan tug at her hair that was falling loose across her shoulders. 'We're going to have our work cut out with this one', she laughed grinning up at me. Yes, we were, but for now that was one of the last thing on my mind.

_**A/N: Please feel free to read and review- comments, suggestions and constructive criticisms are like chocolate to my brain! Much love and enjoy! x**_


	2. 12 Years Later

**_A/N: Part 2 of my Will and Djaq AU story! _**

**_Disclaimer: Same as before- as much as I would adore claiming rights to the ownership of this fantastic TV series, I do not have that privilege and unfortunately have to hand it over to Tiger Aspect- damn..._**

**_Much love and enjoy x_**

_12 years later_

It was evening and I was sitting in my cluttered workshop, doing the finishing touches to a chest requested by a wealthy merchant client who was due to set sail back to England at the end of the week. It was a simple woodcut design; imported matured summer oak on mahogany consisting of flowers and leaves, intricate but still not overworked. Outside, I could hear the calls of anxious mothers and smiled as I heard Djaq's voice rise above them; a sweet, almost melancholy note like the nightingales in Sherwood and the pattering scamper of bare feet as Dan and Alan raced each other to the bath house, desperate to be the first to enjoy the pleasures of warm water.

It was hard to believe that twelve years ago they were merely a thought as I pressed my head to Djaq's swollen stomach when the nine months started. So much had happened. We had moved out of Bassam's house and with my wages as a carpenter for wealthy merchants had been able to purchase a modest house near the centre of Acre. Dan and Alan were reaching twelve and their younger sister Mariella whose plaintive voice I heard soon after they had disappeared into the bathhouse. She had been born in the heat of midsummer; a relatively easy birth compared to her brothers as Djaq so often delighted in telling them when they misbehaved. 'It's a good name', Djaq had told me firmly when I questioned her choice of name for our only daughter. 'Anyway, you named Dan and Alan, why shouldn't I name her?' She had snorted when I reminded her that she had named Alan and told me staunchly that it was in memory of Marian; her eyes brimming with silver tears as the wound opened up again, red and still desperately raw. 'It's my fault she died', she had whispered thickly into my shirt as I held her, whispering incomprehensible words of comfort into her hair. I knew Djaq still blamed herself for Marian's death but as I told her many times, there was nothing we could have done.

'It's over my love', I had whispered, thumbing away the streaks of silver from her cheeks. 'She would be pleased. I know she would.'

Unlike the boys, whose baby blue eyes had turned to the honey darkness of their mothers, Mariella had inherited the Scarlett eyes, deep greeny blue; the colour of the sea in summer. Though much younger and smaller than both Dan and Alan, Mariella had a fierce intellect and could be heard at various times of day reciting her times tables to Djaq in between chores. Djaq had been adamant about the children's education; telling me fiercely with her Saracen accent becoming more and more pronounced as it always did when she was angry or frightened that 'none of my children will ever _ever _grow up to be illiterate William Scarlett'.

As I sat by the slowly darkening window, I remembered how, after many arguments and Djaq berating the 'ridiculous English pride' in Arabic, I had relented on the condition that the boys helped me in the workshop after lessons. Djaq had kissed me then, a long, languid kiss, which made Alan mime retching and Dan exclaim that _'you are SO disgusting!'_.

Just then, I heard the sound of running footsteps and a fierce hammering at the door. 'Dad! Dad, open up!' Alan. What had happened? Placing my sandpaper back on the cluttered worktop, I crossed the few steps towards the door and flung it open. Alan stood on the threshold, his wet hair plastered to his forehead, his eyes huge in the guttering lamplight.

'Alan! What's the matter?' He gazed up at me, his eyes shining and my heart sank. Something had happened and I knew by Alan's expression that it wasn't good. His lips trembled as he tried to bite back the tears. 'Alan?' Dropping to my knees, I placed my hand on his shoulder as he burrowed his head in my chest; his voice thick with repressed sobs. That scared me. Alan was one of the least emotional children I knew and this expression of emotion was completely out of character. 'Alan, what is it?' My voice was quiet as I stroked his wet hair, feeling its' weight beneath my fingers.

'Lardner's back', he whispered finally into the thin fabric of my jacket. 'Mum…Mum's upset…. It's scary Dad…really scary…' His voice faded into a choked sob as he gazed up into my face, finally succumbing to tears. My mind was racing as I gazed past Alan onto the flickering lights of Acre at night. Lardner. _Lardner. A coded message to the King, years ago written in the seclusion of the camp. Robin and Marian trapped up a tree, a bucket of pitch. Alan. Guy. Djaq. John. Much. The fool. Robin and Marian. The feel of the choking smoke smothering my lungs as I forced my brain to think. Much and John arguing over a subject long forgotten. Lardner… The rope around my neck for the second time. The pain as the Sheriff's metal glove hit my stomach, winding me completely… The last goodbye as Robin and the gang left us standing by the fountain in Bassam's covered courtyard…. _'Dad?' Alan was looking at me curiously, his eyes still over bright. 'Dad…'

Silently, I gripped his hand and wet my fingers, moving towards the guttering flame of the oil lamp, ready to douse it. 'Dad, what's happening? What's going on?' Alan's voice was high and scared as I led him out of the workshop, across the street and towards the half open front door leading into the lamp lit passageway. The door that led into the communal courtyard at the back was ajar and from within, I could the sound of soft sobs mingled with the fountain's tune as it played; merrily oblivious to the pain of whoever it played host to.

'Go inside Alan', I told the boy firmly as he gazed up at me, yet another unsaid question blossoming from his lips. 'Don't argue', I dropped to my haunches and placed both hands on his shoulders. 'Please?' He nodded faintly, his mouth half open as if to ask his question, closing it quickly when he saw my face and turned to go, leaving me alone in the fluttering, flickering darkness, with only the sobs for comfort.

'Djaq? Djaq, is that you?' Tentatively, I pushed the door open, my heart racing. What news had Lardner brought? If it was anything to do with the Gang… I shook my head vigorously, telling myself fiercely that we would know if anything had happened; that Robin or Much or someone would have told us.

She was sitting on the rim of the fountain, one hand listlessly tailing the clear, cool water as the bright bullets of carp came to tickle her fingers. Her hair was loose, tumbling in general disarray across her shoulders, a waterfall of inky ebony. Her back was to me, but I could see by the hunching of her shoulders that she was either trying not to cry, or had succumbed at last to tears, I couldn't tell. As I watched, I spotted the red dragon by her side, lying as if Djaq had just put him down, his one wing lying parallel to Djaq's elbow. I had never had time to finish the dragon and when the boys and then Mariella had got a little older, he had become something of a Scarlett talisman alongside the Outlaw tags that Djaq and I still wore; hidden under our Saracen costumes. He was our good luck charm, the one toy the children fought over before they had any kind of test or needed a bit of support. When they were ill, I would place the dragon on their pillows; whispering, much to Djaq's amusement that his presence would make them well.

'Will?' She turned to face me, her dark eyes sparkling with silver tears. I nodded, moving slowly towards her, my arms outstretched, desperate to hold her, to comfort her, to thumb away the tears. Silently, she held something out to me; a crumpled scrap of parchment, the once blue ink now faded to a rusted brown.

'Lardner brought it', she mumbled, her voice almost inaudible from the choked up sobs. My fingers seemed to have lost any sense of feeling as I slowly unfolded the crumpled piece of paper and read; my heart throbbing somewhere in the region of my Adam's apple.

'_**Dear Will and Djaq,**_

_**Robin and Alan are dead, Nottingham has been destroyed. You were right about Alan, Djaq; we should have trusted him after all. He died a hunted, unloved man and for that we are sorry. Him we disliked in life and liked in death. He will always be remembered. Guy's sister, Isabella, who became the new Sheriff of Nottingham after the old Sheriff's death, poisoned Robin. There was nothing we could do. **_

_**I hope the children are safe and well and you are able to face this loss together. John sends his best wishes,**_

_**Much'**_

I finished reading but continued to gaze at the black marks that formed words that made the message and turned it over to read the postmark. It had been posted a year ago. It made no sense. 'Will…', I felt Djaq's trembling fingers clutch at my elbow as she buried her face in my sleeve. Scrunching the letter in my fist, I pulled her close, whispering words of comfort in broken Arabic, which normally would make her laugh. Not today though. I couldn't speak. Numb disbelief was crashing over my body like breakers on a beach; the words lost entirely. Phrases from the letter filtered disjointedly through my jammed brain, circling over and over again like vultures on a carcass. _Robin… Alan... Dead… Nottingham…. destroyed… Died a hunted, unloved man…. Nothing we could do…. Nothing…. Nothing… _I glanced at Djaq who was gazing at me with a look of appalled horror etched like the faded ink on her tear- stained face. She swallowed and tried to speak, gulping back the air before burying her face in her hands. 'Alan…', I heard her whisper, between her choking sobs as I placed my free arm around her shaking shoulders. 'Alan…. Robin… why? Why?' She looked up at me again, her face full of confused rage.

'I know', I said heavily, fighting to remain calm, trying desperately to restrain the feelings of overwhelming grief and rage that were crashing over me. I had thought of them like brothers. Both of them. Why was life so bitterly unfair? First Ma, then Dad, now this….

'I loved him!' Djaq's voice had risen to a desperate pleading shriek that reverberated eerily across the courtyard, startling a group of nesting pigeons into flight. 'I never told him!'

'I know', I said lamely, working my fingers up her back, tying to calm her. 'I know you did, I did, I…. he….' I broke off suddenly at a noise from the covered passageway and looked up. A small figure in a long, white nightdress embroidered with blue flowers around the hem was standing in the shadow of the entrance, her feet bare, a small stubby finger worrying a loose top tooth. Mariella. Her course, flyaway hair had been stubbornly forced into two fat plaits, possibly by Djaq earlier, which stuck out comically at right angles. I couldn't see clearly in the gloom, but I guessed from what I could see of her expression that the boys had been teasing her again.

'Mum? Dad?' Her voice was thick, as if she had recently been crying. Djaq glanced up at the noise; her red rimmed eyes full of tender concern for her only daughter. 'Alan and Dan…. they…' She broke off and flew at us; her wet feet leaving footprints on the rapidly cooling stone as she buried her head in Djaq's shirt. 'They took the dragon!' She wailed pitifully, looking up into her mothers' face; her green eyes full of anguish. '_My_ dragon! They said that they were going to use it to test their miniature gallows!' More tears leaked out of her red-rimmed eyes as she buried her head further into the sweet, spicy smelling fabric. I glanced at Djaq, a small smile tugging at my lips. '_Should we rescue her dragon from a certain and most horrible death?' _The silent question hung in the air as she flashed me a small smile whilst whispering words of comfort to Mariella as she stroked her back.

Just then, there was a scuffle from the passage and Alan, closely followed by Dan burst in; red in the face and heaving with silent laughter. I was glad to see that Alan had perked up since he had come to collect me from the workshop, only minutes previously. They stopped short, skidding to an ungainly halt when they saw us and looked sheepishly at each other. Djaq smiled.

'We didn't do anything to Marri's dragon, Dad!' Dan burst out suddenly, reading our faces with a worried expression on his face. 'Honest! We thought….' He glanced at Alan, who nodded. 'We wanted to have a bit of fun with it, that's all!' I couldn't help smiling at that and glanced at Mariella who shook her head vigorously.

'Give Marri back her dragon and come and sit down boys', Djaq's voice was full of quiet authority as she shifted Mariella's weight on her lap, she was really getting too big for these now. They did so, their movements slow and full of trepidation as they gazed at us. I ruffled Dan's hair and grinned, leaning round to pick up the Scarlett dragon; turning it over in my fingers; waiting for Djaq to speak.

Slowly Alan walked over to Marri and produced the dragon. He or she, it was hard to tell with dragons, was smaller than the Scarlett dragon and made of ash with wings intact, mumbling an inaudible apology. Mariella nodded and glanced up at Djaq; her eyes shining with undiluted happiness.

Djaq, however, did not smile; but waited for Alan to sit on her other side; pressing his warm weight against her body. Finally, she spoke.

'D'you remember the outlaws?' Three heads nodded silently, eyes wide with anticipation. I looked curiously at Djaq, wondering where this was going. 'Well, your father and I were thinking…' She broke off and glanced at me pointedly as I opened my mouth to protest complete ignorance of whatever this foolhardy plan was. 'We were thinking of…'

'Much an' Alan an' Little John an' Robin, you mean? Wicked!' Dan interrupted, unable to conceal his excitement a moment longer. Djaq nodded patiently, almost painfully and waited until Dan and Alan had finished whispering before continuing.

'We were thinking of going back to England, to Sherwood', she finished; grinning up at me. Excitement burst in my stomach like fireworks and it was all I could do not to slide off the fountain and jump up and down with the children. Instead, I moved swiftly over to Djaq before pulling her into a fierce embrace.

'Thank you', I whispered into her hair. 'Thank you'. She smiled sadly and gazed after our three children as they raced each other back towards the house, laughing and whooping at this new excitement.

'We need to pay our respects to Alan and Robin', she said when the children had disappeared. I nodded and gazed at her, hardly daring to believe it. I knew how hard the decision was for her, to leave her home just after she had found it but Sherwood was her home too. It had always been her home, ever since we had rescued her as a chained slave from the cart on that dreadful day. Silently, she stood and we made our way back towards the house, our fingers entwined; one thought racing through my slightly dazed head.

_I was going home._

**_A/N: Please feel free to read and review- comments, suggestions, constructive _****_criticisms are like chocolate to my brain! Much love and enjoy x_**


End file.
